Mama, I'm Coming Home
by Omelettes
Summary: An angsty story about Johnny thinking of his mother. Songfic with Ozzy Osbourne's 'Mama, I'm Coming Home'. R/R, please.


A/N: This is... Something I wrote for two reasons: 1) I wanted to share a beautiful song with all of you, and 2) Because this automaticly made me think of Johnny. ...Who I imagine was once a poor, confused child with a warped parental relationship. ...Of course, that's only me. If you think something other of Johnny's past, then write about it. I'd love to read it. Just don't flame me. I know people who like to do that and I don't like them at all.  
  
Disclaimers: Johnny belongs to Jhonen. Not me. Although that would be cool. =D  
  
Mama I'm Coming Home belongs to the most wonderful artist in the whole entire world, Ozzy Osbourne.  
  
Volkswagon belongs to... Well... Volkswagon. o_O;   
  
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Driving... Driving... Driving... That was all Johnny ever seemed to do anymore. He'd left his home in hopes of erasing all feeling; of clearing his mind of all irrelevent thought. In fact, he'd almost predicted it.   
  
He haden't expected this.   
  
Johnny's mind was constantly plagued with thoughts he'd never had the time to think before. It was terrible... All the memories he thought he'd lost to time and insanity... All the feeling he'd wanted to shake off of his being on this trip... It was going all wrong. Quite wrong, indeed.  
  
When he was still living in the filthy city, he'd had more than enough to keep his mind occupied: The wall, three voices living inside of his head, keeping the asshole count down as much as he possibly could, Squee... But now... Now all of his obligations and responsibilites were hundreds of miles behind him and he'd nothing to do with himself.  
  
At first, he'd thought that this was good. Nothing on his mind meant he could feel nothing, and that was half of his goal achieved (The other half being able to think and act without feeling.).   
  
...But of course, as we all know, when we're not thinking our sub-consious thinks for us and pushes long-since abandoned thoughts back into our heads...  
  
For Johnny, these thoughts were those of his past. Of his childhood and adolescence. Shaking his head in vain to rid himself of such things, he decided to turn on the car's FM radio.  
  
He'd left it on an oldies station. A song was just starting... The introduction told him it was a song he didn't want to hear: 'Mama, I'm Coming Home'. It was by Ozzy Osbourne, he remembered. He'd never liked this song... Not because he didn't like the music or the artist... He actually kind of enjoyed them. It was the song's jist. A good relationship with his mother was something he'd never really, truly had. He attempted to turn the radio's dial, so as to tune it to another station, but his attempts failed and the knob fell off. Johnny cursed the people at Volkswagon and decided to leave it on. Maybe the next song would be better...  
  
Times have changed and times are strange  
  
Here I come, but I ain't the same  
  
Mama, I'm coming home  
  
Johnny sighed. He'd have squeezed his eyes shut if he hadn't been driving. ...Also, if he'd done that, he wouldn't have seen the dull road sign that welcomed him into another town. A town who's name Johnny recognized from his youth. ...But the name itself wasn't important. Johnny had grown up there... Had left there; run away from there. He could only assume his parents were still there. ...Or at least his mother, if his father haden't run out on her. God... He had changed so much since his childood. Passive, frightened victem to dominant, insane murderer.   
  
Times gone by seem to be  
  
You could have been a better friend to me  
  
Mama, I'm coming home  
  
For a second, he felt sorry for his mother. Having to deal with her verbally abusive husband, having to keep up with an energectic child... But those feelings left him when he thought about how his mother had always ignored him. Unlike the parents of most children, his mom had never woken him up for school if he slept in past the alarm: He just had to be late. She'd never make him pancakes or french toast on his birthday: He had the same old school breakfast he had all the time. She had hardly ever even said 'good morning' to him as he ran out of the house, late for the bus. She'd barley even mumbled a 'hello'.   
  
You took me in and you drove me out  
  
Yeah, you had me hypnotized  
  
Lost and found and turned around  
  
By the fire in your eyes  
  
You made me cry, you told me lies  
  
But I can't stand to say goodbye  
  
Mama, I'm coming home  
  
...She had, however, given him what he needed to survive, even if she haden't done it with any apparent love or compassion. He'd loved her. With all his heart, he'd loved her... Even when he got no love back from her, he'd continued to say things like 'Love you, mom! Bye!' or 'See ya tonight!' when he left for school. He always gave her an unreturned hug before crawling into bed every night.  
  
He remembered things weren't so bad up until around the time he was eight or nine... His mother's efforts before then haden't seemed quite as half-assed as those of his teenaged years. She at least told him that everything between her and daddy was alright. That when she cried, daddy'd told a very funny joke and she was laughing so hard she'd started to cry. Or that when she and daddly hit eachother, they were practicing for a play about abusive relationships at the local penetentary.   
  
Even though those nice, level-headed times were fake, he much preferred them to the times after he'd found out about his parents real relationship. The nights spent crying and blocking out the noise... Awful. Simply awful.   
  
I could be right, I could be wrong  
  
It hurts so bad, it's been so long  
  
Mama, I'm coming home  
  
Selfish love yeah we're both alone  
  
The ride before the fall  
  
But I'm gonna take this heart of stone  
  
I just got to have it all  
  
He decided he would visit his childhood home... That night, he would do it. It wasn't a long ways away, and he wanted to know... He wanted to know if his parents were still alive. If one or both of them still lived there. If the house had been demolished, or if there was an entirely new person or family living there. He had to know. Maybe... Just maybe he could give his mother another chance. Thinking about all she'd gone through... They were alike. Both hurt, both victems of something. Maybe he could make her love him this time around... Maybe he could go back and do it all right.   
  
No! This was not the object of his mission... The object of this voyage was to forget; not to remember and relive. This would only bring him pain... It wouldn't work and it would make him hurt inside again.  
  
...But if it did work... The NailBunny-esque side of Johnny began to think for him. This could help him... If it didn't work, he could go back to being cold and unfeeling. He'd his whole life to do that. Who knew when or if he would be here again? Ever? Certinly not himself... He had to make an attempt.   
  
I've seen your face a hundred times  
  
Everyday we've been apart  
  
I don't care about the sunshine, yeah  
  
'Cause Mama, Mama, I'm coming home  
  
I'm coming home  
  
Through the first few years of his criminal insanity, Nailbunny had tried especially hard to help him get better. Bunny'd made him think about what he could have... What he could do with himself. Told him to go back home; see his family... His mom...  
  
You took me in and you drove me out  
  
Yeah, you had me hypnotized  
  
Lost and found and turned around  
  
By the fire in your eyes  
  
Tears were seeping into visibility in the eyes of the young man driving the car. ...His street... This was his old street. He felt... hopeful. He slowed his car and looked on both sides of the street, searching for the small, blue and white house he was the product of.   
  
*Screech* He slammed on his brakes and ran out of the car, bounding accross the street to get to his house... His mother's house. The radio continued to blare from the car as Johnny did this, creating an effect that raised his hopes even higher!  
  
I've seen your face a thousand times  
  
Everyday we've been apart  
  
I don't care about the sunshine, yeah  
  
'Cause Mama, Mama, I'm coming home  
  
I'm coming home  
  
I'm coming home  
  
I'm coming home  
  
He flung open the front door and looked around exitedly. ...What he saw wasn't his mother's furniture. Not her carpet. Not her drapes. The floor was bare and dusty. No furniture resided within the home. The curtains were no longer orange, but dull, gray and dusty. It reminded him of his own house... Full of emptiness, terrible memories and shattered dreams.   
  
As the last words of that damned song echoed throught the streets, followed by the guitar's soulful conclusion, Johnny dropped to his knees. "I... Knew. It... I... I knew..." His head dropped and the tears in his eyes, once ones of hope and joy, turned to those of sadness and anger as they dropped one by one onto the empty, dust-coated, hardwood floor.   
  
"F-fuck... Why... Why would she do this to me..." Those words started out as clearly audible, but ended in a raspy, tired, trailed-off whisper as Johnny punched the floor and fell down to it... He lay as if dead; silent and unmoving.  
  
...Maybe... Maybe she would come if he waited... Was the last hopeful thought Johnny ever allowed inside of his mind.   
  
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I didn't want to end it like that... R/R, please. 


End file.
